


Stars, bear witness

by Phoenix_Soar



Series: Wicked Thing [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Soar/pseuds/Phoenix_Soar
Summary: Crowley heaves for breath his body doesn’t need, trembling as he struggles to wrap his mind around the fact that yes, he is the luckiest bastard in the world and this is happening.Years down the road, Crowley still occasionally forgets that he gets to have this now, his happy end with Aziraphale. Luckily, his Angel is all too happy to remind him of what they have together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Wicked Thing [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546879
Comments: 34
Kudos: 372
Collections: AJ’s personal faves





	Stars, bear witness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raiining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/gifts).



> Part 4 of my 'Wicked Thing' verse. I recommend reading the other 3 parts first, to get the context of this fic!
> 
> Oh boy, I did not expect to return to this series so soon ... until [raiining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining) hit me with all the inspiration, and I had to sit down and feverishly write this. This one's for you, raiining ♥

Crowley is a lucky thing, as he’d once only dared to hope in the afterglow of clandestine meetings in dark places.

Crowley is a lucky thing and he has in his arms an Angel just as blessed, who is breathing his name like a prayer to the star-strewn skies overhead.

And it is, with alarming swiftness, becoming too much. 

He is the luckiest being in existence and the sheer weight of that single truth comes crashing down on him, as if the very heavens have shaken loose and fallen about his shoulders.

Gasping, Crowley pulls away from his familiar exploration of Aziraphale’s collarbones and neck, leaving like a trail of breadcrumbs the purpling traces of his scorching mouth on that soft divine skin.

Aziraphale makes a sound that rings all too familiar - the protest of an Angel in the throes of passion, who suddenly and without warning finds himself deprived of his indulgent lover’s touch. Crowley’s touch. 

The very thought, so simple, so _overwhelming_ , sends uncontrollable shivers down Crowley’s spine and he has to screw his eyes shut for a long moment, as he kneels there on the tartan blanket he’d clumsily miracled when Aziraphale pounced on him in the garden, not a half hour ago. 

He kneels in the middle of the garden he has created for Aziraphale with his own infernal hands, in the shade of the seaside cottage they now call home. He kneels between the legs of his beloved, the one being his heart has not once lost sight of for six thousand years, laid out like a delectable feast Crowley never tires of sampling. 

Laid out for him. All for him. 

And Crowley heaves for breath his body doesn’t need, trembling as he struggles to wrap his mind around the fact that yes, he is the luckiest bastard in the world and this is happening.

It has been over two thousand years since Aziraphale first pushed Crowley down onto a bed in a nameless Roman inn; and a hundred since Aziraphale had whispered, _Make love to me_ , for the first time in Crowley’s own bed in London. 

A hundred years and still, out of nowhere, it’s unreal to think that he gets to have this now.

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale’s voice is strained with frustration and need, but when Crowley doesn’t reply, concern takes over at once. ‘My dear, what is it?’

His hands, those loving gentle things, come to rest on Crowley’s arms, and brush over his chest and hips, as Aziraphale soothingly encourages Crowley to look at him.

He needs another shaky breath before he can.

Aziraphale is sitting up with his legs still spread, indecent but for the look of gentle worry that has replaced the lust from before.

‘My love, what’s wrong? Tell me, please.’

 _My love_. Crowley has heard that endearment* in any and every kind of situation. It still undoes him. 

(* Along with the litany of others that has joined Aziraphale’s frankly mortifying arsenal throughout the years.)

_My love_. 

Crowley is his love, Aziraphale’s _love_.

‘I’m fine,’ says Crowley softly, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his. He gives the Angel a small smile. ‘I just … needed a moment.’

Understanding flashes in Aziraphale’s eyes at once. It’s not the first time this has happened, Crowley needing to take a step back - in the middle of love-making, halfway through a breakfast prepared together, during a quiet evening snuggled together on the sofa - to assimilate the reality of their life together, again.

To remind himself once more that it’s not a dream.

‘Darling,’ is all Aziraphale says then, softly, gazing into Crowley’s eyes as he tightens his grip on his hands; a warm, solid touch. Real.

Crowley chuckles, trying to inject some levity into the moment. ‘Y’know, you’d think I wouldn’t forget anymore, especially considering how you fucked me six ways from Sunday just yesterday.’

With a brazen grin, he brushes his lips over Aziraphale’s knuckles. ‘Thought for a moment that we’d break the bed.’*

(* It’s not an uncommon occurrence, even since before they moved to the South Downs. As Crowley had discovered from the get-go in Rome, Aziraphale likes it a little rough**. Which means, from among all their varied love-making across the decades, there have been memorable occasions in which Aziraphale had Crowley fuck him harder than their bed could withstand.

** Crowley, too, is more than eager to being taken firmly in hand, when the mood strikes Aziraphale.)

Despite Crowley’s attempt to lighten the atmosphere, Aziraphale doesn’t laugh. He raises a hand to cup Crowley’s cheek, leaning in to brush their noses together. 

‘Do you need a little reminding, then, of what you have? What _we_ have, together?’

Crowley closes his eyes. ‘Angel,’ he whispers, a tremor in his voice. 

Aziraphale tilts his head, kissing Crowley long and deep, nibbling and sucking at his lips until the heat builds up between them again. With a helpless moan into Aziraphale’s mouth, Crowley slides in his tongue between his parted lips, and the Angel meets him with his own, panting. 

Aziraphale moves to lie back down on the blanket, pulling Crowley down on top of him. And then they are snogging again, with Crowley sensually twisting his tongue in a couple of manoeuvres that he knows drives the Angel wild.

He eagerly laps up the lewd sounds Aziraphale makes as he ravishes his mouth, until the Angel places a hand on his chest to break off the kiss.

Breathing hard, Aziraphale looks up at him, his blue eyes seeming to reflect every star in the southern sky as he tells Crowley, ‘I love you.’

Crowley has received that confession nearly everyday for the past hundred years, and it never ceases to make his chest tighten.

Aziraphale continues before Crowley can answer, ‘I love you. I love you as you love me. I have loved you for longer than I care to remember, and I will never not love you. I will never not want you. Crowley.’

He brushes his fingertips over Crowley’s lips, tracing their curves. 

‘You have me, darling. I’m yours. I have always been yours. Even during those agonising centuries when I didn’t dare acknowledge it, when I was so afraid - deep inside I still knew I was yours. As you are mine.’

Crowley’s breath stutters and Aziraphale pulls him down gently, resting their foreheads together. 

‘I kept coming back to you out of selfishness, because I couldn’t stop myself. I thought that where I couldn’t give you my heart, I could give my body - this weak, human thing - and take yours in return, and it would be enough. But I was just deluding myself. My fear of losing you helped me keep my distance, my silence; but I _knew_ \- our meetings were not mere trysts. I was yours, always and completely.’

Crowley exhales shakily, trying to process Aziraphale’s words, those softly spoken confessions that hold the power to rip apart and remake his whole world.

‘M-mine,’ he repeats, slowly. 

‘Yours,’ Aziraphale repeats, tipping his head up to brush their lips together. ‘Say it again.’

‘Mine.’ 

‘Yours. Again.’

‘You’re mine.’ 

‘Again, my love.’

‘You,’ Crowley is shaking, ‘are mine, angel.’

‘And you are mine,’ Aziraphale returns. 

He hums contentedly when Crowley kisses him again, winding his fingers through the Demon’s long curly tresses. 

‘Thank you,’ Crowley whispers against his lips, his heart fluttering even as he feels himself calm down, that overwhelming disbelief from before tamped down and back under control again. 

‘I speak only the truth,’ says Aziraphale. ‘And I would speak it again with my actions, if you’d like.’

Crowley raises an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

Smiling, Aziraphale places his hands on Crowley’s chest again, gently pushing until he has the Demon on his back. He leans over him to brush another kiss against Crowley’s lips and then sits up on his knees.

Crowley takes him in with greedy eyes. His beautiful Angel, incandescent like the holy thing he is in the light of the moon and stars. The tousled mess of his white blond curls fairly glows*, and his body is an alluring canvass, already painted with the beginnings of Crowley’s newest masterpiece.

(* Crowley can almost see his halo like this.)

Jolts of arousal shoot through him as Crowley drags his eyes over the blooming marks he has left on Aziraphale’s pale skin, on the column of his neck and across his chest, down past his hard nipples and over the generous swell of his stomach, the soft flesh covering his hipbones. Marks that are mirrored on Crowley’s own body, dusted with the imprints of Aziraphale’s mouth.

His eyes dip lower, coming to rest on Aziraphale’s pubic region. There is nothing there but a smattering of blond hair over smooth skin. For now. 

It is a rather recent development. Over the decades they have been truly together, Crowley and Aziraphale have enjoyed exploring each other in every way possible. With eternity sprawling out ahead of them, they have come together in a variety of different configurations, learning what works and, most importantly, what they like. 

But since the past few years, Aziraphale occasionally chooses not to make an effort during foreplay. He waits for the last possible second, usually until Crowley’s aching cock or soaking cunt can’t take it anymore, before he manifests genitals, a spontaneous choice based purely on whatever whim he fancies in that moment. Crowley finds that he rather enjoys this game, the heated anticipation that comes with not knowing how they are going to make love until it’s happening.*

(* A few times, Aziraphale had chosen not to make the effort at all, instead begging for Crowley’s tongue, fingers or cock in his arse. What ensues is a slow, agonising fuck that, with no way for Aziraphale to seek proper release, spills over into their next round of love-making with the Angel becoming almost manic in his quest for orgasm. Crowley finds the overall idea strangely hot if a bit odd, but he’s always happy to indulge Aziraphale.)

Tonight, as Crowley watches, Aziraphale cups a hand between his legs. It comes away to reveal a slightly more pronounced mound, and the unmistakable plump lips of a cunt.

Crowley stares for a few seconds, before meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. ‘It’s been a while,’ he says quietly.

‘Hmm. A few months, I believe?’ Aziraphale turns to him with an uncertain look. ‘Is this alright? If you prefer - ’

Crowley chuckles. ‘Looks like you can do with a little reminding yourself, angel. I think whatever you choose to present is perfect, remember?’

Aziraphale smiles, and Crowley can tell despite the dim light that he is blushing. 

‘I’ll keep this then,’ he whispers and, after a moment, swings a leg to straddle Crowley’s hips. He makes himself comfortable, bringing his cunt to rest directly on Crowley’s straining cock, lying stiffly against his stomach.

Crowley gasps at the sudden contact. Aziraphale looks very pleased with himself.

‘Oh, angel, that feels …’ He trails off as Aziraphale begins to move, slowly rubbing up and down on Crowley’s cock. His labia parts and Aziraphale moans low in his throat as his clit drags over the soft skin. 

Crowley’s breath stutters as he smooths his palms up Aziraphale’s sturdy thighs, coming to rest on his heaving hips. He can feel the Angel’s cunt growing increasingly wet with every stroke.

’A-Aziraphale … is there a reason for thi - this particular effort?’

‘You said you liked it,’ Aziraphale says breathily as he grinds down a little harder.

‘Of course I bloody like it! Only …’ Crowley inhales sharply through his nose, his thoughts scattering briefly again at the delicious friction. ‘I feel like you have a very specific reason for it.’

Aziraphale meets his eyes, his pupils blown wide. ‘It’s … it’s what I wore when … the first time that we…’

Crowley’s catches his breath, his thoughts jumping to a two-thousand-year-old memory.

‘Angel…’

‘I - _ohh_ ,’ Aziraphale moans a little, his hips stuttering before he gathers his senses again. ‘I love being with you in every possible way, b-but - ah!’ He gasps again. ‘I, I will never forget the way you made love to me for the very first time.’

Crowley’s mouth goes dry, his eyes widening. ‘You’re not talking about Rome, Aziraphale.’

‘I am’

‘You can’t be.’ Crowley furrows his brow. ‘We … we weren’t _making love_ then.’

Aziraphale’s eyes bore into him. ‘Then what were we doing?’

Crowley’s jaw tightens. ‘Fucking.’ Aziraphale had made that perfectly clear back then, even if not in as many words.

But the Angel is shaking head, rutting his hips. ‘Oh but darling, you’ve always made love to me. Always.’

Crowley has to close his eyes. ‘We fucked, angel. Until that day after Armageddon, when you - you said … for the first time, you said -’

‘Crowley.’ Aziraphale has stopped moving.

Gritting his teeth, Crowley forces himself to open his eyes again.

The expression on the Angel’s face is infinitely tender. ‘Even though we never gave a name to us until that day, not once did you hide your feelings for me in bed, my love.’ He reaches to stroke his fingers along Crowley’s jaw. ‘And … I don’t think I was terribly subtle either, even back then.’

Crowley exhales, taking Aziraphale’s hand to lace their fingers together. The Angel is not wrong, he has to admit as he reminds himself of their clandestine meetings from before. 

For all appearances it had been a wicked game, an Angel and a Demon fucking in dark places without names, and parting ways without another word after. But _during_ , oh during their games, Crowley had done a piss poor job of separating his feelings from his touch, while Aziraphale - he was fire and passion, never masking his desire for Crowley nor hesitant to voice how he wanted to take or be taken.

Aziraphale smiles down at him, as if he can hear the thoughts ringing in Crowley’s head.

‘You see, my dear? Even during those long centuries when we couldn’t say it, you had me. And you have me still and there will never be a day when you don’t have me. As I have you.’

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley whispers his name like a prayer; the same way Aziraphale always says his name when he has Crowley’s lips on his neck and Crowley’s hands on his skin.

In response, Aziraphale abruptly grinds down on him again, the wet slide of his cunt slicking up Crowley’s cock from base to head. Crowley fairly whimpers, his body shaking with the renewed stimulation.

‘Won’t you make love to me, darling? The way you did that first time?’ 

‘A-angel.’

‘And the way you made love to me, every time since?’

‘Ngk.’

Aziraphale gives a breathy laugh. ‘I take it that’s a yes.’

Crowley has no more capacity for words. He reaches for his cock just as Aziraphale does. Their fingers slot around each other as they take Crowley’s hard length, and together, guide him inside Aziraphale.

Aziraphale shudders as he lowers himself carefully, taking Crowley inch by agonising inch until he is fully seated. Crowley groans at the familiar clutch of Aziraphale’s slick walls around his cock, watching the look of bliss that steals across the Angel’s face as he stills, adjusting to the intrusion.

Then he is bracing his palms on Crowley’s chest, lifting his hips until his cunt almost clears the head of Crowley’s leaking prick, before he impales himself again. Crowley moans, clutching at Aziraphale’s hips as the Angel sets a rhythm that quickens in pace, until he is riding Crowley hard.

If Crowley’d thought that Aziraphale’s offer to _remind him_ , as the Angel had put, would end here, he has another thing coming. For Aziraphale, who is usually driven to incoherency during sex, looks him in the eye and proceeds to make love to him in words too.

‘You feel so good, darling,’ he whispers, his breath stuttering. ‘You’re always so - ohh, so _good_ to me. Y-you … ah! Ah … you take such good _care_ of me, Crowley.’

He moves to brace himself up on his forearms, the new position allowing him to drape over Crowley’s torso and kiss him, sloppily, as his hips continue to work. Crowley responds with enthusiasm, with tongue and teeth, drinking in the helpless sounds Aziraphale makes in response. 

When the Angel breaks away, he doesn’t stop his litany of praises. ‘Do you know,’ he gasps, ‘I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you.’

‘Angel,’ Crowley whines. He is overwhelmed, Aziraphale’s sweet nothings frying his senses as much as his slick cunt working his cock.

‘Whether I’m sitting next to you on a park bench or - oh! Or … next to you in your Bentley as you do 90 miles per hour…’ With a cry, Aziraphale throws his head back for a moment, gasping, before he can continue. ‘Or when we’re in bed and you’re in me, or I’m in you … oh, darling, the way you touch me is like a benediction. You touch me like I might break, like I’m the most precious thing in the world, and I know I’m safe with you.’

‘Aziraphale…’ Crowley’s vocabulary has been whittled down, it seems, to just his names for his beloved. He wants to tell Aziraphale to stop speaking, that it’s too much, but the ability has quite escaped him. 

So he just holds him, touching him everywhere he can reach, leaning up to press desperate kisses to his mouth as the Angel rides him, his movements almost frantic.

‘Oh, Crowley! Oh … oh _please_ …’

Now this is an Aziraphale that Crowley is more familiar with, needy and inarticulate with pleasure.

‘What do you want, angel?’ He breathes. ‘Tell me.’

‘I … I, ah!’ Aziraphale slows down with a whimper, sitting up to look down at Crowley with blazing eyes. ‘I want you on top of me, making love to me like you did that day…’

Crowley blesses out loud. He grips Aziraphale’s hips, unseating the Angel to roll him onto his back on the blanket. Aziraphale moans at the loss, and then again louder when Crowley settles between his legs and slides back inside him.

The Angel slings his legs around Crowley’s waist, canting his hips eagerly. Without preamble, Crowley rocks into him, setting the hard pace he knows Aziraphale likes best. Often enough he enjoys dragging it out, keeping his thrusts slow and deep to watch Aziraphale come apart in his arms, wrung out and begging for release. But not tonight.

Tonight, he will give it to him, the way he’d done that night in Rome. He makes love to his Angel the way he had the first time, leaning down for a kiss as he angles his hips to drive into that spot he knows makes Aziraphale sing.

‘Yes, yes! Oh Crowley, ri-right - ohh! Yes, right there! Ohhh … oh darling, d-don’t, ah, stop -!’ 

Crowley kisses him soundly, muffling his own moans into Aziraphale’s panting mouth. He drives relentlessly into Aziraphale, mildly aware of the Angel’s nails on his back when, at last, his cunt clenches around Crowley’s cock and Aziraphale comes, crying out his name at the stars.

Aziraphale gives a breathy laugh as he collapses on to the blanket, beautifully blissed out. Looking up at Crowley with dazed eyes, he keeps his legs locked around his hips, urging him on. 

‘That’s it, darling, come for me…’

After two thousand years, Crowley doesn’t need to ask if Aziraphale wants him to come inside him. He almost sobs the Angel’s name, his voice wrecked, as he finishes, spilling in his throbbing cunt.

Aziraphale cradles him close when Crowley collapses, still shaking from his orgasm. Crowley lies still in his arms, catching his breath for several seconds before he moves, gently pulling out. Aziraphale shudders.

‘Are you all right?’ He whispers into Aziraphale’s neck.

The Angel hums. ‘More than all right. Like I said, my dear, you take such good care of me.’ He falls silent, then quips, with a grin Crowley can practically hear, ‘Oh, but I am glad that you don’t fuck me like I might break.’

‘Aziraphale,’ Crowley exclaims, in a mock-scandalised voice, his face heating up.

‘You make love to me as well as, if not better than, you take care of me. Aren’t I blessed.’ Aziraphale’s tone is still teasing.

‘In this context, some would argue that’s the exact same thing,’ Crowley shoots back, keeping his red face firmly buried in the Angel’s neck.

Aziraphale laughs again. ‘Indeed.’

Crowley finally looks up, meeting Aziraphale’s bright eyes. ‘Angel, I … thank you, for … for reminding me.’

Aziraphale smiles, heartbreakingly tender. ‘Oh, my love. Always. I love you and you have me, and I will remind you of it as many times as you want me to. Let the stars bear witness.’

With a lazy grin, Crowley goes up on his hands and knees. ‘Now, I seem to recall that you wanted me to see to you the way I did in Rome?’

‘Is that not what we just did?’

‘We did a bit more than that…’ Crowley pointedly looks at the mess between Aziraphale’s legs, at his cunt dripping with Crowley’s come and Aziraphale’s slick.

The Angel visibly shivers. ‘Oh, you … you don’t have to do that.’

‘Hmm, I want to.’ Crowley turns his hungry gaze on him. ‘I wanted to do that for you back in Rome, too, d’you know? Wanted to lap at your sweet cunt and suck you clean, and then bring you off again on my tongue.’

‘Ohh,’ Aziraphale shudders. His legs fall open almost involuntarily.

Crowley smirks. ‘I take it that’s a yes,’ he parrots Aziraphale’s words from earlier with a low chuckle. 

He drops a kiss on Aziraphale’s neck, and then slithers down his body, dragging his lips over the sweaty skin. 

‘Can’t wait to have you again, angel. ‘M gonna make you scream.’

Aziraphale just moans, already too far gone with the first touch of Crowley’s tongue to his clit. He weaves his fingers through Crowley’s hair, tugging uncontrollably as his Demon sets about giving him a thorough seeing to.

‘Oh, you wicked thing,’ he moans, arching his back.

Crowley lifts his head for just a moment. ‘ _Your_ wicked thing.’*

(* Crowley is, in fact, a lucky thing; the luckiest bastard in existence. 

And if by chance he tends to forget that, he has his Angel, all too happy to remind him of what he has, what they have together, always.)

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley got his happy ending in 'Hopes Realised', and now here I am with more cos lbr our soft demon deserves all the happy endings <3
> 
> Please drop a comment and let me know what you thought ^_^  
> Or hmu on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RV_Phoenix_Soar) or [Tumblr](https://phoenix-soar.tumblr.com/)
> 
> More of my Ineffable Husbands fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Phoenix_Soar)


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